Mornings
by TribalGirl
Summary: In which Germany wakes up to find Italy in his bed - again - and Romano gets completely the wrong idea.  Light GerIta.  Random oneshot.


**Wrote this on my iPod, then got lazy and didn't type it up in forever. Why is this text gray? Is it just a Document Manager glitch or - ah, whatever. Enjoy.**

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><p>As soon as he woke up, Germany could tell, judging by the warmth and feeling of the sheets beside him, that he was not alone in the bed. And he was pretty certain - one hundred percent certain, in fact - that the person lying next to him was named Feliciano Vargas, more commonly known as Italy Veneziano, and very probably had no clothes on at the moment.<p>

Germany let out an audible groan. If he was able to tell from the moment he awoke, and if he wasn't even the slightest bit surprised, that meant that he was getting used to it. And getting used to having a naked Italian in his bed every morning meant his life was getting very strange indeed.

He lay there for a moment, listening to the happy little snores coming from beside him. Germany had no idea how a snore could even sound happy, but if anyone could pull it off, it was Italy. Finally he sat up and risked a glance to his left, praying that the other nation at least had the covers pulled over him...

Well, that was a relief.

Germany got up, dressed, and combed his hair, then began debating whether or not to go downstairs and get breakfast. In the end he decided against it. If Italy woke up and found him gone, a panic attack would probably follow, which usually led to him hug-tackling Germany in terror - probably having forgotten to put on pants beforehand, No it was better just to stay put and wait for him to wake up - which, based on past experience, might take a while.

No sooner had he reached this conclusion than Feliciano's snoring stopped abruptly. "Ve - Germany -" Italy yawned, stretched, and sat up, throwing off the covers as he did so.

Germany hurriedly averted his gaze. Why Italy insisted on sleeping stark naked, he had no idea, but it wouldn't have been a problem if he'd been content with doing so in his own bed.

He heard the rustle of sheets as Italy jumped from the bed, then - "Germany, you're still here! You always wake up way before me... Isn't it a nice day today? We could go fishing later. Or we could have a picnic! I'll bring pizza and garlic bread and lots of pasta!"

Germany reluctantly turned to face his friend, who was standing in front of him with that impossibly cheerful smile he always wore - and sure enough, was stark naked.

"Italy..." Germany let out a sigh. "Where are your clothes?" He couldn't have come all the way over here in such a state of undress... Could he?  
>"I left them at home."<p>

Strike that, he definitely could.

Germany groaned. "Right, well, you'll have to borrow some of mine. There's no way you're going back there in broad daylight looking like that."

"Okay!" Italy bounded over to the dresser, grabbed a pair of boxers and a shirt, and was out the bedroom door before Germany could even blink.

Germany sighed, watching the door swinging slightly on its hinges, then went downstairs and into the kitchen to find Italy - who had put on the clothes, thanks God - already boiling a pot of water.

"What are you doing?"

Italy looked up, beaming as usual. "Making breakfast!"

"Breakfast?"

"Yes! Linguine with clam sauce!"

Germany shook his head and sat down at the table, resolving to have potatoes for breakfast - they were great for headaches, and he could feel a massive one coming on now.

for a while, the only noises were the quietly boiling water and Italy humming as he skipped around the kitchen garhering ingredients - something that sounded like the overture from some opera. Then, suddenly, he plopped down in front of Germany, pulled a stray piece of paper and a pencil towards himself, and began scribbling.

"What?" Germany couldn't help feeling taken aback by the sudden change in activity.

"I'm drawing." Italy didn't look up. "Until the sauce finishes. See?" He flipped the paper towards Germany, who saw a scribbled sketch of the cat Japan had been holding yesterday - it was testament to Italy's skill that Germany could recognize it.

"It's really good, I -" The words died in his throat as he noticed what was written in a corner of the paper: both their names, encircled by a heart.

"Italy." Germany felt his headache return in a rush. Rubbing his temples, he asked, "Why exactly did you draw that?"

"What?" Italy looked at the doodle as though seeing it for the first time. Then he broke into that glowing smile again. "Oh, that. It's because we're friends!"

"Friends..." Germany allowed another sigh to escape his mouth. "Just - erase that, can't you?"

"Why?" Italy jumped up, placed both palms on the table, and leaned forward. "Why should I?"

"Um -" Germany leaned back in his chair, trying to escape somehow - Italy's face was far too close to his, and the temperature in the room had just shot up ten degrees.

"Because I really like you, Germany."

He could not handle this. He really needed right now to run away and wait for his heart rate to return to normal and maybe read a book or two on how to be in a relationship - and then the door opened.

Italy was gone in an instant. "Fratello! You didn't tell me you were coming to visit - if I'd known, I'd have made more pasta!"

Germany, still trying to make sense of what had happened - and, more terrifyingly, had almost happened - heard the word "fratello" and groaned inwardly. Oh, no. How did he get in here? And at exactly the wrong moment too... He risked a glance at the door and saw exactly what he'd been dreading to see - Romano, livid and speechless with rage.

"You -"

Well, almost speechless, at any rate.

"Ve - fratello, what's wrong?"

"You and - and - YOU AND HIM!" Romano's hands curled into fists. "You - you were just standing there like - like - like you were about to kiss him or something -"

"What wrong with thaAAAH! Fratello - I - can't - breathe -"

"I HATE YOU SO MUCH! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE MY BROTHER, YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO STICK WITH ME, NOT GO OFF WITH THAT POTATO FREAK AND LEAVE ME -"

Germany wondered if anyone had ever tried to address Romano's abandonment issues - or his anger management problems. Probably not, he decided, then, watching Romano release his brother and Italy massage his throat, he wondered if he should intervene. Again, the answer was no. If he so much as moved, Romano would pounce.

"And you're half naked." Romano seemed to be looking for any excuse to complain now. It was true, though, that the shirt was hanging wide open and that the boxers were a little short. "Look at you, you're just -"

"I'm not naked! Well I was but -"

Oh no. Germany braced himself for Romano's fury.

"I said half naked, you - Hold on a second, you WHAT?"

Romano's shriek of rage sent Italy scuttling back to Germany's side in terror. "I just - fratello, I just slept in his bed, what's wrong with that?"

"You - you -" Romano seemed to be drawing his own conclusions; the color of his face had bypassed red and was now veering to white. "You didn't. Tell me you didn't - didn't -"

Germany braced himself, waiting for the shock to pass and for Romano to start screaming - but then the door opened again.

"Ah, Lovi! Aqui estas! I've been looking for you!"

Romano visibly deflated, and the expression on his face visibly read, Great, something else to deal with. Turning to face the nation that had just burst through the door, he began, "I've told you, idiot, stop calling me by my human name -"

"But it's so fun to say, and Lovi, the tomato plants need our attention! Three of them need water and I think one of them has been taken over by a beetle of some sort -"

"Spagna, this really isn't the time." Romano flashed Italy an irritated look. "I just found out that my fratello might have -"

"Ah, si, tu hermanito!" Spain draped an arm around Romano's shoulders, ignoring his glare, and grinned at Italy. "How are you doing, Veneziano?"

Italy grinned back. "I'm making pasta! That reminds me -" He hurried to the stove, his open shirt flapping behind him. "It's almost ready, if you stay you can have some!"

"Pasta? As if!" Romano lunged out from under Spain's arm, looking murderous, then stopped, face thoughtful. "Wait... does it have tomatoes in it?"

"No, it's linguine with clam sauce - no tomatoes. It has oregano though!"

"Then forget it!" Romano's face became angry again, and he stormed forward again, focusing on Germany this time. "Now, listen, potato idiot: you and my brother -"

"Ah, Lovi," Spain interrupted hurriedly, "I think I left my tomato plants outside, could you go get the,?"

"Shut up, Spagna - I'm lecturing here, I'm not going outside just for a stupid excuse you made up off the top of your head!"

"Lovi -" Spain jumped up, grabbed Romano's hand, and pulled him towards the exit. "The tomato plants need us!"

Romano reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged away, but he yelled over his shoulder, "I swear, I'll send my mafia after you! You haven't heard the last of -"

The door closed behind them.

Germany slumped down in the chair. "I don't know how Spain puts up with him."

And at that moment Italy turned away from the stove, bearing a steaming pot and grinning from ear to ear. "Pasta's ready!"

Pasta. For breakfast. Italy was standing in his kitchen, beaming; Romano's yelling could still be heard from down the street - Spain might have just pulled his curl, judging by the volume of his cursing - his head was aching, he needed a rest, and he hadn't even eaten yet.

Pretty much a typical morning.

Which just went to show how insane his life was.

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><p><strong>Soooo yeah. GERITA FTW! Please review and tell me what you think!<strong>


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